Meeting at the Gate
by vodka on fire
Summary: The tale of a Necromancer


Meeting at the Gate

The pungent smell of rotting carcases filled her nostrils. The groans of the dying had stopped several hours ago but her mind was still filled with their shouts for help and salvation. "_Fools!"_ she scoffs, as if any of her victims would ever see the netherworld, they were meant for other purposes. Gingerly she fingered the bells of her trade. "_I mustn't rush, it would be dangerous," _she cautioned herself_._ Slowly she tested the binding on each of the bells on her bandolier. Each gave her control over the spirits of the Dead, but they were tricky bells and would sound of their own accord if given a chance.

She loosened the bindings on Mosarel and Saraneth. Together they allowed her control over the Dead, yet both were tricksome bells. Mosrael, the Waker, made any spirit return to Life. _"Yet if used rashly," _she thought with a shudder_ "it could propel the ringer further into the depths of Death." _Gently she held Saraneth, the Binder, the second largest it had a deep commanding voice which, when rung correctly would bind any spirit to the will of the ringer. But it too was dangerous, if used carelessly it could take away the will of the ringer and leave them at the mercy of the Dead.

Having armed herself with the weapons of a necromancer, she reached for death. The many deaths here had made it easy to reach and she soon felt the cold river around her ankles. Her body froze in life as her soul traversed the river of Death in search of spirits to enslave. She was at the edge of Death and the river was shallow here, only a tingling at her feet, it was deceptive though and she knew that should she let up her guard for even a second she'd be drawn under its impossibly strong current. As she went closer to the first gate she saw the distorted shapes of the Dead, restless spirits who had not found their way past the Gates. Raising her bells she rung them together at once forcing the spirits to walk back into life and binding them to her will once there. It was simple enough but these minor spirits did not worry her.

The bells of a necromancer would be heard through the whole of the first precinct and likely far into the second and third, if any Greater Dead were about they would be drawn to her. She felt the last of the spirits she had killed today return to their bodies, this time as her puppets. She stopped ringing the bells, and found herself at the edge of the First Gate _"Careful Sorana" _she schooled herself.

"You should be more careful with Mosrael necromancer, or you might find it will lead you to where few mortals have been," a deep voice taunted her as she stepped back from the precipice. Quickly returning Mosrael to its pouch she drew Kibeth, the Walker, hopefully she could use its strength combined with Saraneth to send this creature deep into Death. "Put down the bells!" the creature screamed. Its voice heavy with the sound of free magic, she felt her will falter and her hands snapped to her waist bells hanging useless in her fingers.

She immediately regained control of herself but that split second was enough the creature was above her head and shoulders taller that she was its eyes devoid of life; only flames remained where eyes should have been. The eyes held her in a trance as the creature feasted upon her soul, devouring her life. Once it finished her it would return to her body in Life. The thought of this vile creature inhabiting her body gave her a last rush of energy and she lifted Saraneth in the familiar figure eight that gave it its powerful voice.

The clear note rejuvenated her and she fought the creature; she would have to dominate it, there was no middle ground. In Death defeat meant only on thing, a concept to horrifying to think on. Devoting all her will towards the creature she managed to drive it back and was about to sound Kibeth when a fiendish smirk appeared on what was once a human face. The cold rivers of death had distorted the vision and it was now no more than a piece of flesh; yet the malevolence of that smirk was unmistakable.

She fought to keep control but there was no use the creature overpowered her once more, the distraction had worked; her concentration had faltered. Having devoured its prey the creature returned to its new body forever seeking sustenance to keep it in the world of the living. Preying upon the weak; drawing life from the young. It lives only to hunt, and hunts only to live. How many will fall in its path?


End file.
